Ephemerally Yours
by EverybodyLies228
Summary: A new take on the events of 507 through 510. Mel and Linds never seperate, Brian never rants at Mikey, and Mikey doesn't almost die. Stop Prop 14 is held on the eve of the 4th anniversary of a certain key event. And Brian has plans. But will they work out
1. The Plan

**Ephemerally Yours **

**Chapter 1**

Light poured over a heaving sea of bodies, twirling and flashing in an epileptic manner as a guttural beat pushed through the room, embedding itself in time with the rhythm of the crowd's collective heart.

Brian threw his head back vigorously, swallowing the shot of Beam with a grimace.

"Another." He barked at the bar boy, slamming the glass on the counter with a resounding thud. The twink started abruptly and shot a glare in Brian's direction – but, as usual, the glare quickly melted away when his heavily dilated eyes locked (somewhat hazily) with Brian's.

"Coming right up." He drawled with a seductive smile and bent over exaggeratedly behind the counter.

Brian tore his eyes away from the twink, turning instead to the pulsing mass of flesh before him heaving and swaying to the pumping bassline that poured out of the 17 digital speakers scattered throughout the club. Speakers Brian had paid for. He smiled wryly as Ted's words re-entered his head.

"Oh, come on. We've got the funds – look at what Kinnetik made only last quarter. Babylon's you're baby – and isn't buying your child semi-pointless extravagances one of the great responsibilities of being a parent?" Reluctantly Brian agreed, more out of desire to make Ted shut the fuck up than for the good of his "baby".

His baby. Brian smirked bitterly – if this was his baby, his current methods of fathering (getting shitfaced and standing on the sidelines as an uninterested observer) were nearly meeting those of the legendary Jack Kinney.

He was startled by cold fingers on his shoulder. He whipped around to find the twink leaning over the bar, drink in hand, a sloppy smile placed on his face by a meth-addled brain. He ran a finger slowly around the edge of the glass, looking expectantly at the veritable god before him.

Brian leaned in slowly, feeling the hopeful trick's breath increase slightly. He curled his fingers suggestively around the glass and leaned into the tricks ear.

"Fuck me." The twink whispered desperately.

"Fuck. Yourself." He punctuated tearing the glass out of his bony hand and downing the shot in a swallow. Before the kid could respond Brian was already half-way across the dance floor in a bee-line for the door.

The cool night air hit him with a refreshing crispness as he pushed open the club doors, leaving behind the sea of light and sound to a more interested crowd. He was only interested in one thing, and that was Jus—

_Fuck! Don't fucking think that. You're not a fucking breeder. You don't believe in love. You're probably better off without the brat – you don't have to deal with his whining about "what he wants"… fucking housewife. _

"Yeah. Definitely better off with out him." He said aloud, almost convincingly, but there was an ever growing lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow no matter how hard he tried.

And it stayed there. Until he couldn't ignore it anymore.

He was home alone smoking a joint on the bed. Their bed. Suddenly his mind was flooded with images… naked bodies swaying to their own carnal rhythm. Shaken, he tore himself from the sheets and walked instead into the living area. Television. That'll distract him. He flipped the power button and familiar sounds floated through his ears – no fucking way. The picture focused in and, sure enough, there it was. The Yellow Submarine. Justin's favourite movie. His mind flew back to a time when Justin was the one hopelessly in love (he cringed) – his mother expected him to let the kid move in with him. Like that was gonna happen. But, eventually, he found himself giving in (the things that kid could do to him) –and getting a duffle bag shoved into his arms, full of two things: 27 pairs of tighty whities – and the Yellow Submarine. The bare essentials. He attempted a smirk but all he managed was a sad smile, the lump in his throat bobbing threateningly. He forced eyes shut.

_No. You are _not _going to queen out._ He thought to himself, even as the tears welled in his hazel eyes.

After several more half-hearted attempts to keep himself together, his body eventually surrendered to the truth. He missed Justin – and "fucking Brian Kinney" just had to get over that fact.

He ended up sleeping on the couch, slumbering to the soothing sounds of the Beatles, tear-stained pillow clutched to his chest as if the boy – _man_ – that now frequented his dreams were in his arms again.

Brian Kinney had fallen hard.

**Chapter 2**

"Brian…"

Knock.

Hazel eyes snapped open.

Knock. knock.

"BRIAN."

He looked around groggily, glancing down at the pillow clutched to his chest as memories of the night before flooded his mind with unwanted force.

Knock knock.

Knock.

He threw the pillow disgustedly at the mumbling TV, glaring heavily at the door that was probably currently being assaulted by some pathetic force named 'Mikey'.

"BRIAN!" Knocknocknocknock.

"I'm COMING!" He yelled exasperatedly, tearing his broken form from the couch. "I wish." He muttered with a smirk.

"Come on – I need to talk to you!"

KNOCK.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He mumbled as he padded unevenly across the smooth wood panel floor.

He stopped in front of the steel loft door and pinched the bridge of his nose, mentally preparing himself for the whining tirade that he was sure lay on the other side.

"What the fuck took you so long?" Michael's voice bounced off his ear drums with grating displeasure.

"Nice to see you too." He replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. Brian and Mikey's relationship hadn't exactly been the greatest since 'the break up'. Rather, Brian just wanted to be left the fuck alone, and Mikey… well, Mikey was Mikey.

"I need to talk to you."

"Really? I couldn't have fuckin' guessed. What is it, is the professor feeding you too much healthy Asian shit again? Well sorry –" He yanked open the fridge " –But I don't think poppers and Beam serve as a healthy source of vitamins and minerals." He slammed the refrigerator door. "You could always go to the grocery store for me though."

"No, I need –"

"Zucchini would be nice."

"Would you shut the fuck up?"

Brian dragged his finger across his lips and shifted his eyes toward the ceiling.

"I need a favor."

Brian opened his mouth but, predictably, Mikey cut in.

"The Stop Prop 14 Benefit."

Brian stared uninterestedly.

"It's a benefit… to Stop proposition 14." Mikey continued hesitantly.

"No shit." He cut in loudly. "What do you need me for?"

"Um. Well, you see, we did have a place to hold it. This hotel downtown, called –well, anyway, they kicked us out…asshole corporate sponsors not wanting to ruin their reputation, you know, the usual shit. And, uh. We've tried everywhere else…" He trailed off uncertainly.

"Except…" Brian continued for him.

"Babylon."

Mikey gave a staccato nod, lip slipping between his teeth. "I know it's short notice, and we wouldn't have asked you unless we _really_ needed it –"

"Glad to know I'm dependable." Brian muttered under his breath.

" –And it's for a good cause –"

"They always are." He drawled with mock compassion.

"Brian." Mikey stared intently at him. He looked off into the bedroom in contemplation.

"How much were you paying the other place?" He asked quietly.

"Ten thousand." Brian nodded distractedly. "We'll pay you more." He added reassuringly.

"No you wont." He looked back to Michael, features set in an unreadable stare.

"Look, just because we're desperate doesn't mean you have to –"

"It's free of charge." Brian said simply.

Mikey's mouth dropped slightly. "I –" He stuttered. "I –I don't know what to say."

"Well, 'thanks', would do." Brian shot back, edgily. Michael seemed to take the hint (for once in his life), because he took a few steps back, and mumbled a small 'thanks' as he turned for the door.

The look of heavy contemplation fell from Brian's face. "Wait. Mikey." He took a step forward.

Mikey turned quickly to face him, puppy eyes expertly set.

"Is Justin going to be there?" He asked as casually as possible. He watched the hopeful puppy eyes flash with anger and the signature pout spread into a thin line of bitterness.

"Why do you care? I thought you were over him." He asked disdainfully.

"Just answer the goddamn question." Brian shot back, advancing.

"Well, yeah, I guess so." He must have noticed the flicker of light in Brian's eyes at those words. "Why?" He whined accusingly.

"That doesn't really concern you, now does it?" Brian said patronizingly.

"Well, actually –" Typical Mikey.

"The answer's 'no', Mikey, it doesn't." He cut in forcefully. "Now get the fuck out." He punctuated by throwing a finger at the door, like a parent telling their 8-year-old to go to their room. Mikey still remained unmoved, so Brian added a slow, derisive "Please" and headed straight for the bedroom. "And shut the door." He shouted, not looking back. The clang of metal a few moments later told him Mikey must have taken the hint. He sighed heavily in his solitude and fell back on the bed, arms spread in a Christ like pose. A soft smile spread across his face.

He was going to get his Sunshine back, he decided, not matter how lesbianic it was – because it had finally hit him, while he was busy not listening to Mikey, that he would much rather give up his reputation than his life. Because, as fucking trite as it sounded, that's what Justin was. Ever since he left Brian felt as if a part of himself was gone, too (He cringed. _Fuck, he really has turned me into a lesbian._).

But it was true. He went to work uninterestedly, he got distracted during presentations, he hadn't "nailed an account" in weeks, he ate uninterestedly, he slept uninterestedly -- hell, he even _tricked_ uninterestedly.

So, after nearly gagging multiple times – he finally got himself to admit the truth.

He loved Justin Taylor.

Always had. Always would.

And there was only one little problem: he had absolutely no fucking clue how to get him back.

After a moment of worried frustration, he smiled mischeviously at the ceiling before rolling off the bed and grabbing his coat.

_Time to go visit the munchers._

**Chapter 3**

"Brian. To what do we owe the pleasure." Mel's sarcasm met him with cool familiarity as the door to house 178 swung agape.

"I need to talk to a lesbian –" He said quickly, unthinking.

Mel snorted "Well, congratulations, you've come to the right place."

"Where's Lindsey?"

"I thought you needed a lesbian."

"I do…" 

"So what the fuck am I?"

"Just trust me, I need Lindsey."

"Fine." She tilted her head around through the doorway. "Hun! Your majesty Fucker of Liberty Avenue would like a word with you!"

Moments later, a just-as-ridiculously-disheveled-as-usual Lindsey came bouncing through the living room to the doorway. "What is it?" She asked breathlessly.

"He needs to speak with a lesbian." She whispered

Lindsey gave him a quick 'what-the-fuck' look and slowly drawled "Whyyy?"

"I need romantic advice." He mentally kicked himself in the head.

_I cannot believe I just said that._

Predictably, Mel threw her head back and let out a loud bark of laughter. "What?!" She screeched and bent over in a fit of hysterics.

Lindsey simply stood, mouth agape for a few seconds, looking Brian squarely in the face, before faintly tapping her partner on the shoulder. "I think he's serious." She whispered amazedly.

Brian averted his gaze, then immediately regretted the gesture as he heard Lindsey gasp. He was in deep shit now. He cringed as an anticipated "Awwwwww! Brian…" Left Lindsey's mouth excitedly.

_Fuck. Here we go._

He inwardly braced himself against the wave of sentences involving the words 'cute' and 'adorable' that he was sure were headed his way.

"Oh my God… you miss him! That's so cute!" She turned to Mel eagerly "He misses him! Isn't that cute, Mel?"

If Mel's eyebrows were raised any further they'd become part of her hairline. "Yeah. It's fuckin' adorable…" She drawled behind a well-placed smirk and turned from scene, shaking her head amusedly.

As soon as she was gone, Lindsey broke out in a manic grin. The kind of manic grin that made Brian start to fear (even more than usual) for his well-being. "Tea and cookies?" She said sweetly, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him over the threshold.

_Why did I do this? _


	2. Royal Assistance

**Chapter 4**

"Okay, can we _try_ to act a little less lesbianic about this?" He pleaded, reaching automatically for towards the cookie plate. "Fuck, these are good." He mumbled, stuffing what seemed like the twelfth chocolate chip cookie in his mouth.

"Brian." Mel dictated from the kitchen table. "Your 22-year-old _male_lover has left you, and you've gone to seek – Christ, I can barely say it – _romantic advice_ from a couple of dykes. How exactly do you approach that in a manly fashion? I'm sorry, not even your dick is that big." Even Linds gave a snort at that, before turning to Brian with a sincere smile. "What do you want us to do, Brian?"

_Get me my fucking Sunshine back. _"I don't know." He muttered resignedly, focusing on a spot on the floor.

He heard Lindsey move next to him. "Hey." She whispered softly, stroking his back. "I know you love him." She felt him shrink slightly under her touch. "But that's just it. _You_ love him. _You_want him back. Not us. Shouldn't that be enough? Go see him – tell him how you feel." Brian managed a small smirk – yep, that's Lindsey Peterson. The Maudlin Maid.

"But what the fuck do I say?" He nearly whined.

Mel snorted. "Try 'I love you' – always worked for me. Oh, and you could add in an 'I miss you', too. You know, just for good measure." Mel snarked, nose buried in the house bills but still finding it impossible to ignore the amusingness that was Brian Kinney in love.

Love.

As if he had telepathically heard the word, he cringed. "Why don't you just cut my dick off, right now?"

Mel let out another bark of laughter. "Gladly." She drawled and turned back to her pile of papers. "Hun, what date is it?"

"Today's Tuesday right? Umm. Twenty…first. I think. Yeah, because Stop Prop 14 is on Friday, the –"

_Oh my fucking god._ "Twenty fourth." He said dazedly. "Fuck." He whispered quietly, raising his hand to his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut as memories attacked his conciousness.

"What?" Linds's soft concern-filled voice drifted to his ears. He barely heard her over the racket in his own head. Music. Voices. Screams. Blood. _Fuck._ His voice cracked when he spoke. "Four years." He said weakly, hoping she would understand. He felt the grip tighten on his back. She did. But it was Mel who spoke. "You said he still doesn't remember any of it, right?"

"No." He replied solemnly. He locked eyes with Mel, expecting to find a pity party as big as the Pride Parade hidden within the dark brown orbs, but instead he found not sympathy, but…what was that? Mischief?

"Well, maybe it's about time he did."

"Are you out of your fucking _mind_?!" A pair of flashing hazel eyes stared incredulously at the lesbian before them.

"Well, we could argue that point for hours, but I think it's safe to say for the moment that I know what the hell I'm talking about." Mel replied calmly. Wait. Mel… calm? The world really has gone to shit, Brian thought to himself.

"But why—" He started quickly, eyebrows furrowed tightly with consternation.

"Think about it." Mel cut in firmly, her calm reserve starting to slip. "We _all_know you loved that kid long before you admitted to yourself. You were bitching and moaning when he asked you to the prom. We all remember it. Because Brian Kinney would never be caught dead in a room full of eighteen year olds, right? Tell you the truth, neither would I. But you went. You fucking went, you fucking asshole. And Brian Kinney_never_ does something he doesn't want to do. Michael saw you that night in the hospital, saw how helpless you looked. We all know you went every single night to see him –"

"How—"

"Let me fucking finish." She snapped. Bitchy Mel was back. "You stood there every night, tortured, watching the ONE THING you gave a damn about it in this world suffering, helpless, and what did you do? You never went in. You never told him you were there. You went to bars with Michael and drank your fucking ass off, and for what? Just so you could keep your reputation that 'Brian Kinney doesn't do love'. And now, guess what? Either you get your ass off our couch and show that kid how much you fucking love him, or you're going to spend the rest of your life in that hospital, staring helplessly through the glass window at the man you love. And you'll never open the door. You'll never tell him you're there. You can fuck as many men as you want, you can do drugs every fucking night if you want to, but you know every man you fuck, every drug you take is just a replacement for him. Because you're scared as shit. He broke through the walls. True, it surprised the hell out of all of us, but he did it. And you know he did it. You knew it that night at the prom. We all know what you were telling him that night. The three fucking words you could never say. We all know. All of us but him." She paused briefly as her tone became more soft. "Babylon has a dance floor for a reason."

Brian stared helplessly at the woman before him. Each word perforating a different section of his mask of denial. He opened his mouth to speak – but what was there to say? Words had sort of lost their meaning in this moment… and didn't some horribly commercialized movie once say, "It's what you do that defines who you are"?

So this is what he did: He swallowed the lump in his throat, got the fuck out of there, and drove to the most pathetically romantic house in all of Pittsburgh.

--------------------------------

"Hey, baby!" A giddier-than-usual (which was pretty fucking giddy) Emmett greeted him behind a bright red door.

Brian almost turned to leave, but the nearly schizophrenic voice in his head told him to stay. So he did. He opened his mouth to spout off some complicated explanation of why he was there, but quickly decided to stick with the blunt approach.

"Get in the car. We're going jewelry shopping."

And the severely effeminate man found himself being yanked out of his house and thrown into a familiar dark green 'Vette before he could jump up and down and say "Fabulous!".

Yes, the blunt approach works much better.

He pulled the drivers side open and slid in next to the squealing man… who wasn't squealing. Wait a minute. Brian turned his head confusedly to find, that, instead, Emmett was looking at him with an intensely worried look on his face.

"What's going on?" He asked with mingled suspicion and trepidation.

Brian furrowed his brows in confusion. "What do you mean? I. Want you. To go shopping. With me. I think we've established this."

The smaller man let out a terrified gasp. "Ohmygod. You're dying, aren't you? Is it the cancer? It's come back hasn't it –"

"—Emmett—"

"—And now you've decided that you're going to spend one day with all your friends doing the things you know they've always wanted but you've never been willing to do. Oh, Brian! That's so sweet, but—"

"—Emmett—"

"—I must insist. I don't want you do to anything you don't want to…. Though I must admit there's this fabulous new place that I've been DYING to –"

"EMMET. I'm not dying."

Emmett's face melted into a sickeningly compassionate arrangement of features. "Oh, it's okay baby. I understand. You don't want us to worry about you. But I can take it." His mouth started to quiver. "I'm here for you." He punctuated this last statement by slowly laying his hand on top of Brian's. He couldn't take it anymore. Brian banged his head against the steering wheel in frustration before throwing his hands beside his head in a why-the-fuck-aren't-you-able-to-comprehend-this pose.

"Jesus Christ Emmett. I AM NOT DYING." He nearly screamed.

Emmett's features fell blank. "Y-you're not?"

"NO." Brian shot back quickly.

Emmett pointed a finger a him tentatively "Then why are you –"

"Oh for CHRIST'S SAKE. I WANT JUSTIN BACK. IT'S NOT THAT HARD TO FIGURE OUT. Why the hell else would I want to go jewelry shopping with you? Now you better fucking tell me where the most disgustingly expensive jewelry store in Pittsburgh is, or I WILL throw your nelly ass out of this car. Got it?"

Emmett looked shocked for a moment before a slight smile crept upon his face. "Got it." He replied with a smirk, settling himself into the soft leather as the 'Vette came alive with a loud growl.

"Oh, and Emmett –"

"Yes, Brian?" He asked amusedly.

Brian turned to him seriously. "Never. Accuse me of being that nice again. Ever."

"Yes, Brian." Emmett replied in mock obedience. He reflected on the events of the last 3 and half minutes and couldn't help the smile that filled his entire face.

Brian had just officially lost the right to use the word 'fucking' as his middle name.

He chuckled softly to himself as the quaint neighborhood houses whirred by in a sea of tasteless shades of beige, and for one excruciatingly brief moment he thought to himself, _maybe Brian Kinney isn't an asshole after all._

"MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS YOU FUCKING PIECE OF VOLVO SHIT."

And then the moment was over.

**Chapter 5**

"Here we are! Disgustingly expensive jewelry as far as the eye can see!" Emmett exclaimed with a self-satisfied smile.

Brian merely stared. Dozens of glass cases, each with dozens of objects glittering with the light from dozens of spotlights, lay in front of him in an array of lights and colours. He walked, almost transfixed through the isles of silver, gold, jewels. He stopped in front of one of the cases to look at the prices and was content to find that every single item was at least in the quadruple digits. Only the best for his Sunshine. (No, he did not just think that)

"God, Brian, WHY did you have to bring me in here? It's so depressing." Emmett whined.

But Brian didn't hear him. His eyes had fallen, glued, upon one of the objects in the case before him. He reached out a finger and placed it over the glass case. It was, as trite as it might be, perfect. A golden band with two carefully engraved leaves, fused with flecks of white gold, on either side of an impressively sized and rectangular-cut diamond. He looked at the price: $10,200. He immediately dug into his pocket and pulled out his credit card, noticing that Emmett had lost himself among the shiny objects in the corner of the room. He signaled a store clerk.

"Excuse me, yes, I'd like to buy this ring." He indicated to the object of his desire (the ­_other_ object of his desire).

The man gave him a quick sweep with bright green eyes, before smiling politely. "Yes, sir. What method of payment shall you be using?" He asked in a pretentiously high-class manner. "And shall this need to be gift wrapped?"

"Credit. And no, it shall not. Just give me the goddamn ring." Emmett couldn't be transfixed for too much longer, and he didn't feel like have the supreme pleasure of having him announce to the world how fabulously adorable it was that Brian Kinney had just spent $10,200 on an engagement ring for his currently ex-partner. Right now he just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

Once the store clerk had regained his snotty composure, he reached into his pocket, took out a set of keys and opened the case. Brian reached in and grabbed the ring while simultaneously handing the man his credit card.

He swung around to look at Emmett. He had moved a few cases over, but still seemed to be hopelessly transfixed. Brian shook his head amusedly at the man's patheticness, before realizing that he really couldn't talk about patheticness given his current situation. He huffed and rolled his eyes to no one as the sales clerk returned with his card and a small brown bag. "Here you are, sir. Have a lovely day. I hope the lucky lady enjoys it. She is very fortunate to have a man with such wonderful taste."

Brian's face had an almost dangerous amount of smugness to it. "Oh yes." He replied. "He is very fortunate, indeed." And he grabbed the bag out of the clerk's pasty hands, threw the ring inside of it and spun around to rescue Emmett from his sea of self-pitying despair.

"We're leaving." He said abruptly and grabbed Emmett by the collar.

"But, but, butbutbut. It's so PRETTY." He whined loudly. Brian sighed and pulled him harder.

"Yeah, and I've found what I want. Ergo, we're leaving." This caused Emmett to stop in his tracks, which, in turn caused Brian to inadvertently shove him to the ground. The smaller man seemed unfazed, however, as he picked himself up with a smile on his face.

"What did you find?" He asked mischievously.

"That's for me to know and for you to hopefully find out."

"Aw, Brian, please…" He whined, sounding exactly like Gus when Brian denied him an ice cream cone, to which Brian would always reply -

"No. It'll make you fat." Except he wasn't supposed to say that part out loud.

Emmett gave him a signature what-the-fuck-are-you-on look. "Huh?"

"Nevermind." Brian muttered. "Get in the car." He shoved a finger in the direction of the 'Vette.

"No." Emmett crossed his arms defiantly.

"What?"

"Not until you show me what's in the bag."

Brian stood, pensive for a minute. "Do you have any money on you?"

Emmett's eyes narrowed slowly. "Um. Yeah." He replied dumbly.

"Good. Then get yourself a cab." He turned around and walked towards the 'Vette, smirking and swinging his keys on his index finger.

Emmett huffed loudly. "But, BRIAN."

Brian whipped around. "Look, having one 5-year-old son is bad enough. Either you get your ass in the car right now or - I swear to the God that doesn't exist – you won't be planning my wedding."

Brian honestly can't remember when he'd seen the man move faster.

"How do you always know how to get to people?" Emmett asked, sliding into the 'Vette, trying to be all deep and phsychoanylistic. Contrary to popular belief, Brian's mind had always intrigued him.

Brian quickly brushed him off. "Well, there's really only two things in this world a queen like you cares about – shopping and fucking. And I don't exactly care to involve myself in your 'love life' – or lack thereof." He ended with a smirk.

Emmett did not find this funny. "Why do you always do that?"

"What?" He asked innocently.

"That – answer a question, but not really answer the question."

"I think that has to be the most eloquent thing I've ever heard." Brian quipped sardonically. "Can we go tux shopping, now? Or do you need to psychoanalyze me even more?" He paused, as if he was going to stop talking, but continued, slightly louder. "Why do you do it anyway? So you can feel good about yourself, that you finally figured out what's wrong with me? Well, guess what. I've been sent to about a dozen shrinks and about as far as any of them have gotten is that I had a fucked up childhood and fucked up parents – and therefore I believe that love is bullshit because I'd never even seen love. All I saw was hate. But I was taught that parents always loved each other – so, to me, love was two people screaming at each other at 2 in the fucking morning and waking up the entire fucking neighborhood, just so that one of them could spend the whole night popping pills and crying her eyes out, and the other could drink himself into oblivion, and throw a fist or two at his kid." He breathed through his nose slowly. "I can figure that out all by myself, thank you very much."

Emmet sat frozen for a few moments. "I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I didn't know."

"Yes you did. Everyone knows. No doubt Mikey's told all of you – how I used to come over to his house, makes him seem like a hero, huh? But really the only ones that ever really gave a shit about me were Deb and Vic." He sucked a breath in before adding calmly. "And sorry's bullshit."

He turned the key in the ignition and the 'Vette sprung to life. Emmet stared solemnly out the window. He suddenly felt something he'd never known before. He felt sympathy for Brian Kinney. Not much. But it was there. He smiled sadly. Brian hated sympathy. He cleared his throat, shaking himself from the hypnoticism as it started to rain steadily. He watched as Brian flicked the wipers and pulled from the sidewalk, and asked sweetly (but not too sweetly), "So what sort of style did you have in mind? Traditional? Or something fabulous?"

Brian lips twitched slightly upward. Yeah. He could deal with Emmet.

**Chapter 6**

"You take longer than I do!" Emmet banged a fist on the fitting room door.

"But I have so much better taste than you do!" Brian reasoned through the ugly metal confinement. "See?" And he swung the door open, nearly landing a surprised Emmet on his ass for the second time that day.

Once he had recovered from the near-assault, Emmet sucked in a sharp breath at the sight before him. Damn. He did have good taste.

"No wonder he was all over you." He spun a gloating Brian around, admiring just how well the suit fit him. "And I thought _he_ looked good. God, you two must have been gorgeous, twirling across the dance floor." He trailed off sadly.

Brian's look fell somber, and he sighed heavily. "So I've heard." He let a slight smile light his features before huffing preparedly. "So. This is it, then?" He took a chance to admire himself in the mirror once more.

And then the scene suddenly shifted.

He was looking at himself, four years ago. He was looking at himself nervously in his bedroom, wondering if he looked good enough for his Sunshine, wondering how he'd react, how they'd all react. Wondering why the hell he was even going. It was completely against the Brian Kinney code. And for about two tenths of a second, he'd thought about not going, but he'd imagined the sunshine smile he would receive when he walked up to his boy, and that was enough for his assholey resolve to slip. Present Brian smiled sadly as he watched past Brian walk out the loft door, swinging the scarf around his exposed neck. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey." Emmet whispered soothingly. "It wasn't your fault." The words echoed through his mind, pulling him from the present once again. Justin held a hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly. "It wasn't your fault." He whispered, but Brian refused to look at him. Because he knew that if he did, he would lose himself in the bright blue orbs, and it would all come crashing down. And he couldn't do that. He couldn't let him know how much pain he was in. He couldn't put him through any more. Brian was supposed to be the strong one. Justin was the one that was always supposed to queen out. It was one of his endearing qualities. But Brian, no, Brian was supposed to be the one with open arms. He was supposed to be the comforter, not the comforted. God, he hated pity. But when he felt slender arms slide around his neck, he willingly leaned into the warm, familiar touch.

And that was when it began. The mask had started to slip, the he walls had started to come down, and whatever other metaphors that were used to desribe his unfeeling personality had started to fail. One piece at a time. One Sunshine smile, one lost argument, and one small favour at a time.

"BRIAN."

Brian's wandering concious snapped back to reality as a loud voice echoed through his head. The world came flooding back and he found Emmet's worried face in front of him.

"You okay? I've been calling your name for like the past five minuites." Concern was laced heavily within his high-register voice.

Brian cleared his throat distractedly. "Yeah. 'M fine. Just… got distracted by how hot I look." Emmet did not look convinced. "Really. I'm okay. I spaced out, that's all." Emmet still did not look convinced. "Okay, I've already let my emotional guard down about 5 times today, there is no way I'm going to do it again, so don't even try." He reasoned. "Now will you please let me in the dressing room so that I can go purchase this ridiculously attractive suit and get the fuck out of here before I die of nostalgia." He closed his eyes briefly in a vain attempt to gather himself.

Emmet stepped aside slowly, but only on the basis that Brian had actually said 'Please'. "Sure thing, baby." He whispered quietly. "Sure thing." The fitting room door closed again, the walls went up again, and Emmett was left alone in the middle of a designer tux shop wondering, yet again, how in the world Justin ever got through to this man.

-----------------------------

"I'm putting you in charge of Justin." Brian explained as he pushed open the shop door. A refreshing springtime breeze whipped across both men's uniquely sculpted faces.

"Oooh, sounds fun." Emmet squealed michieviously.

"In charge of his clothes, asshole." Emmett put a mock pout on his face. "Do you remember what he was wearing that night?" His tone was serious again.

Emmetts face lit up with pride. "What kind of queen do you take me for? I can't even remember my own fabulously-put-together outfits? I'm appalled, Mr. Kinney." He replied playfully.

Brian smirked slightly. "Oh, I forgot. That's your only talent. Besides, of course, being the biggest nelly bottom in all of gay Pittsburgh." He quipped, before turning to look Emmett in the eyes. "I'm gonna need you to get him in that again. For Friday." He said firmly.

Emmet hesitated. "But what if he doesn't want to wear it? Knowing my baby, he probably has some fabulous ass-hugging ensemble all picked out…"

"Then force him to, goddamnit. Tie him up if you have to."

"Ooh, kinky."

"Asshole."

"Love you too, Brian."

"And Emmet?" They had nearly reached the 'Vette when Brian had stopped abrubtly.

"Yeah, Bri?"

"I'm the only one allowed to notice the ass-hugging qualities of my baby's ensembles. Got it?"

Emmett willed himself, as hard as he could, not to burst out laughing. "Got it." He replied with a smile on his face that could nearly rival Justin's. Nearly. Sort of. Well, not really, but who the hell could?

He settled himself into the leather once more as a yawn escaped his lips.

"I haven't worn you out have I?" Brian asked, not the least bit concerned.

"No, no." Yawn. "Of course not."

"Good. Because I'm dropping you off at, uh, wherever you got his quote 'fabulously-put-together' outfit."

Emmet looked at him puzzled. "You're not coming with?"

"I… have something I need to take care of."


End file.
